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Page 66
"Calling the command center, the Nok Squadron of the 24th Hokkaido Regiment has been ambushed by enemy armored units and is withdrawing to the defensive line."
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Oh, General, you really shouldn't have done something so absurd.
Eddie Hill peeked at the general as he walked out of the house—who left cursing after hearing the message that "target lost."
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It's important to understand that among the several problems that had been troubling the command center for the past few hours, besides the fact that the mechs' firepower was insufficient to counter the Soviet tanks, another issue was the terrain.
The overwhelming artillery fire pounded on every poor house. Berlin had already been ravaged by war months before, leaving it riddled with holes. Now, the once smooth rooftops were completely transformed into a cornfield of cratered corn, a huge obstacle for the KMFs who hadn't brought their flight packs.
KMFs possess grappling hooks for climbing, giving them a significant mobility advantage in urban warfare compared to infantry fighting vehicles and assault guns. This explains why, in the past, when suppressing refugee camps in District 11, the terrorists weren't particularly afraid of heavily armored and heavily armed vehicles, but were especially afraid of KMFs launching surprise attacks from rooftops.
Now, even people dare not stroll on the rooftop world in Berlin, because one wrong step and they'll be smashed to pieces. Not to mention the mechs weighing over 7 tons. If you step on one, are you there to rock climb or to demolish the building and build your own grave?
How many pilots were on the rooftops, unharmed but out of contact with their superiors, especially the Knights who were darting around Mahersdorf after nightfall? Were they knocked unconscious or killed instantly?
Now, all we can do is wait for the mechs and helicopters to arrive on the battlefield and maneuver through the city streets, which is much more bearable.
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"Lieutenant Colonel, more soldiers on the eastern front have reported being ambushed by snipers. Should we send them to pursue them?"
"Order all front-line guard units to retreat all tanks in each company, leave the KMF in place, and have all infantry take cover inside buildings to monitor the enemy situation around the KMF."
"At the same time, all pilots are reminded that they must not open the cockpit door while on the front line."
"Yes!"
Tonight, we're going to have to contend with those snipers...
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The nights in Berlin became incredibly dull and agonizing, to the point that the rumbling of artillery fire seemed to be an indispensable part of the night.
The tens of thousands of corpses and wounded were like the hands of millions of ghosts, tearing open the eyes that everyone wanted to close, letting the river of blood under the gunfire be deeply imprinted on their retinas and minds.
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Meanwhile, a group of people are working frantically, even a hundred miles away.
North of Frankfurt am Main, a building that looks like a factory workshop is brightly lit. Two soldiers, smoking, are pacing at the entrance, looking around at the surroundings before peering inside.
What's inside?
"Damn Jesus," one of them muttered, peering inside. "Taking so long to assemble a toy..."
"Exactly! It's just an XXXL size doll. If you can't even put it together properly, you must have wet the bed when you were a kid."
"Take a few big breaths! Cover up that taste!"
"Good! Good!"
What are they doing? Well, that has to do with the things in their house.
As night fell, the last train from Berlin pulled into the station, carrying a pile of scrap metal, which the soldiers carefully carried over.
It was a human-shaped thing, very large, with its upper body alone measuring about two meters. But many people couldn't believe it; the brothers of the First Red Division said it was a weapon for fighting! This completely overturned the soldiers' imagination of combat weapons!
A weapon that looks like a human? Equipped with a giant machine gun? Running faster than... whatever? Absolutely not!
And the smell emanating from this pile of rubble... While the smell of tank gasoline is something most people are used to, the smell of this stuff evoked memories for the two soldiers—about a year ago, when they were clearing the wreckage of a house previously occupied by the Germans after a fire, they found a large, black lump of stuff.
They took a closer sniff, and oh my god, they cursed their ancestors for eighteen generations before throwing it away—it was a radio station destroyed by fire, and the electronic components, twisted by the high temperature, emitted a stench that was more than ten times more bizarre than gasoline, something no one could stand.
So the two of them quickly tried to drive it away with the smell of smoke, since for the soldiers, tobacco was on par with fine wine, not something to be associated with garbage dumps.
The two men smoked as they pondered, their minds reeling from the stench and the bizarre news.
Is this thing covered in radios? You're driving around like a radio, racing and fighting, is that cooler than a Jeep?
It was these experiences that made them understand why these battlefield engineers, along with a group of high-ranking officers, were so engrossed in this thing that they couldn't sleep and were spending the whole night working on it.
And among these people, who is the most influential?
Standing in the very center, with Patton atop his head bearing four general's stars.
He had just been reprimanded by Eisenhower this afternoon and wanted to watch the show to relieve his boredom. Good heavens, the engineers still haven't been able to get this thing, which is smaller than a tank, working properly. Crane hooks, jacks, cranes—everything used to repair tanks has been used, but they just can't handle this huge pile of broken and shattered parts.
Yes, they can't even produce a single design drawing, a photo of the complete structure, or even a battlefield image. How can you expect these tank and airplane repairmen to piece this together?
However, engineers are certain that the labor cost of this thing will definitely not be small, at least from the perspective of the world's top industrial level and their understanding of industrial technology. Just like the German MG34, which was described by its own soldiers as "plowing the land with a Rolls-Royce," and the Tiger tank's interlocking road wheels that cost engineers their lives, such a complex thing was something that the US military had never produced or repaired.
Patton, however, was thoroughly enjoying the sights and couldn't help but chuckle. He had been told that British and French officers would accompany him to see the spoils today, but since it was getting late, the elegant British and French gentlemen decided to wait until tomorrow and left Patton behind, now sound asleep somewhere.
Patton had always been fed up with this snail-like dawdling, but as a commander without any troops, he could only dare to be angry but not speak out.
"Well, guys, did you guys finish giving birth to this son of a bitch's baby?"
"Not yet, General," an engineer replied. "We really don't understand how our factory could manufacture this thing."
"You mean we can't even build a four-meter-tall iron doll?"
"Excuse my bluntness, sir. But from what we just saw of the cockpit, there was something that looked like a plastic sheet."
"Go on?"
"It looks a bit like glass and a bit like plastic, covered in metallic-like things. Although it smells a bit like electronic components, it doesn't look like a vacuum tube at all. It's completely different from what we've been born from."
"Can you figure out whose parents this was created?"
"I don't know! General! I think it's better to take it back to China and look into it! We're not some fucking geniuses who can build an atomic bomb!"
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The night continued, and Patton remained silent, watching the giant still being pieced together.
His mind and mood had been thoroughly ruined by these strange uninvited guests and Eisenhower's reprimands.
His heart was conflicted with his expectations; he actually hoped that Europe would not break out into war and that so many young men's lives would not be lost again.
But he also had a selfish thought: he hoped the war would continue for a while, because he was afraid that after the war ended, he would return to his previous state of being lost and disoriented.
God, can you hear General Patton's voice?
Chapter 52, Section 85: Iron Hammer Wakes You Up
The night is finally coming to an end.
It's still the Reichstag building in the heart of Berlin, still that tense command center, where communication waves and instrument indicator lights still shine brightly.
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In the past, when everyone participated in the attack on the EU or the clearing out of the numbered criminals, it was the same: within an hour, two or three squadrons would wipe out the stubborn resistance in a building; in no time, the army would advance and capture half of the capital.
Unexpectedly, everything turned out the other way around: in just one day, they lost the fighting strength of 20,000 men, and the entire army of 100,000 suffered from sleep deprivation.
Coffee couldn't make everyone forget their fear of the enemy outside the city, but if coffee were replaced with an anesthetic, such a large dose would be enough to make everyone completely forget the tense battle—and they would all die peacefully.
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However, one person among them did not have a jar with "Coffee" printed on it.
On the left side of Lieutenant Colonel Eddie Hill's chair leg, there was a Coke bottle lying lazily, and on the right side, there was an empty whiskey bottle.
Then the lieutenant colonel grabbed a metal flask and repeatedly raised and lowered it like a thermometer, seemingly shaking the liquid inside to mix it evenly—neither of them needed this step before drinking, so it seemed the lieutenant colonel wanted them to have intimate contact in the flask.
After shaking it enough, I used my thumb and forefinger to directly pry open the lid.
The lieutenant colonel closed his eyes and slowly savored the stimulation. It seemed that, in his eyes, this stuff was more effective at stimulating people than coffee.
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"Lieutenant Colonel Groen, aren't you asleep?" A staff officer next to him, who was on night shift with him, had just straightened up from slumping over the map table and was lazily rubbing his eyes.
"Ah, with a formidable enemy at hand, I dare not sleep."
"So, do I have to stay on duty all night like you to be as good as you?"
"Ah no, that's my weakness. Since you can fall asleep, it means that anxiety can't take over the space for sleepiness in your mind, can it?"
"Ha, you're quite the smooth talker. So... nothing happened all night?"
"Well, I was a little overthinking it. The enemy is still firing sniper shots, but they can't cause us any casualties. At most, they'll just blind a few more Sunderland light bulbs and that's it."
How many were killed or injured?
"About a hundred. Well, I did do some extra work tonight, following the general's instructions."
"what?"
“You know, artillery shells are different from bombs dropped from the belly of an airplane. They don’t fall directly over the soldiers’ heads; they arc through the air. If there’s something reliable in the trajectory that can stop the shells, then the warriors won’t waste time getting out of the shells’ range.”
"For example, those buildings?"
"Hmm! It seems you guessed it too. I've been choosing these suitable locations all night. If the frontline troops don't have time to retreat, they can choose these nearby places. It may not guarantee their survival, but it's much better than being stuck on the road."
"Does it really work?"
"I'll give him my advice once the general gets up. Also, there are other things. You and I both know that the enemy in District 45 might not have a fraction of our technology, but they do have a subway, though it looks terrible. These underground transportation networks are something we can use, for storing supplies, taking cover from artillery fire, and so on."
"That's all you did in one night? It's really strange that you weren't exhausted."
"Well, don't flatter me. I only care whether the general can listen to what I have to say."
Just then, the two turned around, and the soldiers standing guard at the door shouted.
"General, general!"
Eddie Hill and his companion put down what they were carrying, straightened their backs, and saluted the familiar figure at the door.
"Put it down." Maren, clearly having not slept well, said, "Eddie Hill, report the situation."
"That night, we lost about 150 soldiers and more than 300 were wounded, most of whom were attacked by stray fire in the rear positions."
"Didn't the Soviet army attack us?"
"No."
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"What time is it now?" the major general asked.
"Well, 6:45, sir."
"It's almost seven o'clock, and it's only dawn, hmm."
"Was it completely dark around 5 p.m. last night?" the general pressed.
"Yes."
“It seems we are indeed in a high-latitude region of this world,” Marendo muttered.
Yes, in the Britannian world, the 11th district is located slightly below the 30th parallel north, where you can feel the sun setting before 5 pm in late autumn. Berlin, the capital of the German province in the EU, has a similar experience.
And now, this city, also called Berlin, is located at a relatively low latitude, and the weather feels either like late autumn or early winter. It's truly strange. Two different worlds, two cities with the same name, the same Brandenburg Gate, and even potentially the same latitude and longitude—isn't this a bit too much of a coincidence?
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